


Break The Door Down

by amethystfox, ayerlind



Series: The Adventures of Captain Hugo [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Captain Hugo, Crotchety Hugo, Dom/sub, M/M, POV: Hugo, Paulo is too distracting for his own good, i'm sure i'll think of more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26359219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystfox/pseuds/amethystfox, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayerlind/pseuds/ayerlind
Summary: Truth be told, there had been more than once that he had wondered whether Paulo knew exactly what he was doing, whether he was figuring out with disturbing efficacy just how most effectively to bait Hugo.He'd never let himself assume that that was the case, or even hope. He’d learned quickly that it was exceptionally rare to find someone seeking the kind of release that Hugo preferred to provide, and nigh unheard of to do so by sheer coincidence.Rare, but not impossible.
Relationships: Paulo Gazzaniga/Hugo Lloris
Series: The Adventures of Captain Hugo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656682
Comments: 12
Kudos: 18





	1. Or I'll Explode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had everything, he just needed discipline.

Late October, 2017

London

Some mornings, everyone seemed to be dragging as they arrived for training at Hotspur Way. The changing room would be blessedly calm, people could focus, no one was shouting or throwing anything. 

Other mornings, every single one of them seemed to have done a line of coke at the door. 

Today was the latter, and Hugo had a headache by the time he hit the treadmill. 

It carried on through lunch, with occasional outbreaks of absolute obnoxiousness at random. It didn’t help that SpursTV were lurking around; cameras and microphones appearing in his face out of nowhere was easily Hugo’s absolute least favourite part about this entire life. Of course, some of the rowdier guys were playing it up for them, making them even more annoying than usual. 

“You look pissed.”

Hugo jumped. Dele had snuck up on him somewhat out of nowhere, and was grinning proudly now at having startled him. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t help.

“I am,” Hugo said shortly. 

Rather than retreat, as Hugo had been hoping, Dele just raised both eyebrows in surprise. He did pause midway through pulling out one of the empty chairs at Hugo’s table, though. “What’s up?”

Hugo had to bite down on asking to be left alone. Dele was a sweet kid, if a little full of himself at times; he shouldn’t be punished for trying to reach out as a friend.

“Just a lot happening,” he said with a gesture around the rowdy canteen, trying on a smile. It didn’t feel as fake as he expected it to, and it grew when Dele returned one, looking relieved. “I think you would say I got up on the wrong side of the bed.” 

“Well, here--,” Dele said, and before Hugo could stop him, he was waving across the canteen, gesturing to Eric and Lucas and Kyle, who were just arriving late from the gym. Suddenly Hugo’s table was loud and cheerful, and Hugo couldn’t even snap at them or escape because they were genuinely being sweet and trying to cheer him up. 

It just wasn’t helping.

By the time they were crossing the pitch for the last half of training, Hugo was officially having a bad day, and it was compounded by the fact that he could tell that it was affecting other people, too. Being captain for club and country, Hugo was used to being the one to feel the eyes of the younger and newer players. That on top of being one of the oldest players on the team meant that he had to set an example for them, both in professionalism and work ethic. He never expected anyone to work harder than he did, but he absolutely expected everyone to work just as hard. When people met his expectations, he did what he could to reward them, even if it was only by praise and encouragement. He also did what he had to in order to spur the best out of the rest. 

Whatever he was doing today, though, obviously wasn’t enough. By the third time that the coaches had to interrupt themselves to ask the team to shut up and focus, Hugo’s jaw was already aching from being clenched, and it was clear by the unusually wide berth that the U-21s were giving him that he was radiating frustration. 

He and the other goalkeepers were sticking with the main group today, so Hugo did his best to keep his head down and work his ass off, completing a few rounds of warmups before he stepped out of the formation. It cleared his mind a bit, and he felt looser and lighter, his legs burning appreciatively. While he let them rest, he let his eyes linger on everyone as they went by, nodding to himself as he noted who was doing well and who needed to be motivated, watched, worked with, or praised.

 _“Trés bien,_ Jan, Toby!” he called as the two dashed by. They were both in great form, and they were both the type to thrive on praise and recognition for it; it made them strive to reach the same peak and earn it more often. 

The next pair sprinted off of the line, and Hugo watched them, eyes flicking back and forth. “Find your legs, Dele! _Oui_ _,_ Mousa, good!” He saw Dele’s face, already set to a working scowl, darken; he was definitely someone who would push himself out of spite. Outright praise made him too comfortable sometimes, but suggesting he could do better often made him try, and Hugo was rewarded by a much cleaner run back. “Ah, good, Dele!” 

“Hugo.” Startling him somewhat, Toni had appeared just behind Hugo’s right shoulder, and Hugo glanced at him with a distracted smile, then returned his eyes to the squad, tracking Harry and Christian now. When Toni didn't say anything else, Hugo looked at him again and found himself at the receiving end of one heavy arched brow. “You want to get back to work, or were you made a coach without anyone telling me?” 

Holding up one hand in surrender - and actually grateful that Toni didn’t let him get lost in his observations - Hugo laughed and fell back in, pairing up with Moussa for the sprint that took him across the pitch. He stuck to it for several more rounds, pushing himself until sweat stung his eyes despite the brisk wind. The next time he got close to the other group, though, he slipped back out and circled around them as they began passing, watching the cleanliness of their steps and the angle of their strikes. 

_“Muy bien,_ Juan,” he said as he passed by the young defender, pausing to watch him. He was rewarded with a wide grin and with Juan’s next four strikes being almost identical in form and strength. 

Juan had quietly become one of his favourites of their many new signings. He was confident and solid, fearless about throwing himself in front of the ball. Not only did he take direction well, he also had a very good instinct for improvisation. And he was young; his skills would only sharpen as time went on. 

Same with Davinson Sánchez, who was across the pitch, but easy to pick out by his long limbs and speed. Their other new defender was creative, and what he lacked in finesse, he made up for in intelligence and sheer power. On top of being top athletes, they had clearly become very close friends already, and they worked exceptionally as a team. Hugo hoped that they both had long futures with the club ahead of them. 

Soon after, Hugo finally found himself at home between the sticks as the squad split up for free kicks. Once he had gone through his own paces, tumbling and sliding and panting and swearing, and his body had taken about enough abuse for the day, he told his group to split themselves between the other two goalkeepers. They redistributed themselves, and Hugo prowled back and forth behind the other two goals, watching Paulo and Michel as they fended off a steadily rotating line of free kicks. 

Admittedly, he was watching Paulo a little more than Michel. 

On the subject of new signings and his feelings about them, Paulo was one of the more complicated. Hugo had obviously noticed more than his skills, for all that he was five miles of legs underneath a lean, solid body, and a face so beautiful that he was almost difficult to look away from sometimes. He was graceful and long, and his instincts and feel for the space around him were keen. He was more observant than Hugo was ready to give him credit for at first, and quick as hell, too, but he was hot-headed to an undeniable fault. Unable to contain himself in any sense of the word, Paulo would just get so excited to act on what he saw that he wouldn't notice those last second tells. He had ferocity, but he would be so busy lashing out at the net or the ground or the post that he would miss a quick turnaround. He had the size, energy, and explosiveness to cover more of the goal more effectively than any of the rest of them, but he would shout and pace and stim the adrenaline away just when he needed it most. 

He had everything, he just needed discipline. 

He lacked it in every sense of the word. Paulo was always at about ninety-five percent of what was being asked of him. Enough to be extremely above average, but not enough to satisfy Hugo. 

He rocked back onto his heels when a shot from Harry Winks went wide and rocketed past, about a metre in front of him, then kept his pacing steady. He stepped right up behind the goal, just beyond the full stretch of the net, and crossed his arms. 

“Keep moving,” he said sharply when Paulo stopped bouncing for a second. 

Paulo jumped, and that was the moment that Christian Eriksen sliced a ball right past him, and the sound of the ball striking the net was drowned out by Paulo’s growl of frustration. 

“Don’t distract me, eh?” snapped Paulo, not even turning around. 

Hugo raised one eyebrow. 

Coco, Ben, and Victor all took shots on Paulo, and Victor was the only one who scored. Hugo was impressed that Paulo had read the spin on Coco’s ball, but saving Ben’s was pure, sloppy luck. 

Mousa Dembélé was the next to step up. 

_“Il est faible du côté gauche_ _,”_ Hugo called. He needed Paulo to address that weakness sooner rather than later.

Mousa saluted him, then ran up and slammed his foot into the ball. It sailed into the top left corner, Paulo far too slow to be anywhere near it, and Hugo smirked. 

Paulo spun around, pinning Hugo with a stormy glare. _“¡_ _Déjame en paz!"_

“Turn around!” 

The change that came over Paulo was instantaneous. His pretty eyes widened, his whole frame tensed, then loosened, and he spun on the spot.

Serge stepped up and Hugo read his shot before he even pulled his leg back. He knew Paulo did, too. 

“Bottom left!” he barked from behind Paulo, and Paulo automatically dove. 

They all watched the shot sail easily into the right bottom corner.

“Why the hell you tell me to do that?” Paulo snapped as he got to his feet, glaring over his shoulder. “You knew he was aiming right!”

“So did you.”

Paulo glared at the ground, looking frustrated, and Hugo smirked.

He took pity on Paulo for the next few minutes, watching silently and making mental notes, but not distracting him. Paulo made three clean saves, then two decent saves, then two sloppy saves. The rest of the balls kissed the net as he talked to himself heatedly in Spanish, and Hugo counted no fewer than seven times that Paulo checked for him peripherally between shots. 

It was Lucas’s turn next, and after his shot tucked itself cleanly into the bottom right corner, he let loose one of his joyful cackles. “ _C'est ce que tu lui apprends_ , Hugo?” he teased. 

Everyone else who spoke French had a good-natured laugh over it, but with the way Hugo’s day was going, he saw red. He was already dealing with a particular set of feelings regarding his efficacy as a captain today, he was already annoyed in general, and he _knew_ that Paulo was better than this. 

“Ha ha. _Va te faire enculer_ _.”_ Even jokingly, it was a little more vicious than they were used to from Hugo; Lucas exchanged a look with Jan and Toby behind him, and Serge paused his walk away in order to raise one eyebrow, but Hugo ignored them. 

Unaware of any drama, a coach’s voice rose over the general hubbub and instructed the two groups to switch places. All four of the aforementioned gave him extremely confused looks as they went, and Hugo took the break in action as an opportunity. He swiftly approached Paulo, grabbing the goalpost to pivot around. Paulo didn’t notice him until he was close enough to surprise the hell out of him, and Paulo stumbled backward.

“Wh--”

 _“Stay_ _,”_ snapped Hugo, and Paulo stopped moving so abruptly that he wobbled in place. Hugo didn’t get any closer, though - a measure of distance kept Paulo’s extra few inches of height from mattering.

“Hugo--”

_“Silencio.”_

Whether it was the Spanish or Hugo’s tone, Paulo was shocked into closing his mouth. 

“You are better than this, no?” Hugo gave him about two seconds to stand there before he hissed, “Answer me.”

Paulo nodded, just barely, seeming to be actively fighting himself on whether or not to maintain eye contact. Hugo waited until his glance flicked up again and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Yes,” Paulo clarified aloud. 

“Yes, you are. Is this the best you can give today?”

Paulo glanced over his shoulder and Hugo followed his gaze. The line of players that were ready to take their free-kicks had mostly formed, and Hugo was probably the only reason they hadn’t started yet. 

He made them wait. “Paulo.”

“No,” Paulo said. 

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Are you just being lazy?”

Paulo bristled. “No,” he shot back.

Hugo dropped his voice dangerously. “Are you trying to make me angry?”

That’s when Paulo finally reacted with something other than confusion or indignation. Despite clearly trying to stay impassive, his entire face flushed visibly. Hugo’s eyebrows rose again and Paulo lost the war with himself, eyes staying pinned to the pitch below them.

When he was sure Paulo wasn’t going to lift his eyes, Hugo let himself gape a bit at the top of his downturned head. 

Yes, Paulo had ferocity. He let it get the better of him sometimes, and Hugo had despaired a dozen times already at times when he would have liked to have smacked that beautiful mouth of his for some of the things that came out of it. 

Truth be told, there had been more than once that he had wondered - and then dismissed as wishful thinking, but wondered nonetheless - whether Paulo knew exactly what he was doing, whether he was figuring out with disturbing efficacy just how most effectively to bait Hugo. There had been looks and touches and quiet Spanish muttered behind Hugo in the locker room, with Paulo always turning or walking away by the time Hugo could react, but, for obvious reasons, never anything more overt. 

He'd never let himself assume that that was the case, or even hope. Not here, not with Paulo, not with anyone. He’d learned quickly that, contrary to how highly some Doms might think of themselves, the world was not full of people who were out there just waiting to submit to them; that it was exceptionally rare to find someone seeking the kind of release that Hugo preferred to provide, and nigh unheard of to do so by sheer coincidence.

Rare, but not impossible. 

Hugo crossed his arms. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

Paulo seemed startled out of something, and Hugo saw frustration flash across his face. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” pressed Hugo. 

To his surprise, Paulo looked up, eyes drilling into Hugo’s. Hugo had noticed Paulo’s eyes before, of course, but at this distance, in this light, at this particular moment during this particular argument, they truly shone like nothing he had ever seen before. They were light and dark at once, shallow aqua tides hiding an immeasurable depth below. Hugo could see it all so plainly now that Paulo had been startled into dropping the mask - his desire, his defiance, his fear, his excitement. Hugo nearly lost his composure, his grasp on the streak of anger that Paulo had clawed out of him threatened by Paulo’s sheer beauty. 

“Yes, I try to make you angry.”

Hugo hummed curtly. He looked over at the waiting squad and waved, not an apology but a sign for them to go on, now that he was done. “I’ll see you after,” he promised in a low voice, and he turned away from Paulo before he could say or do anything, walking not back behind the goals again, but away, out to stand between the two groups of players. 

He stood with Toni and the rest of the coaches, discussing new strengths and weaknesses that they’d seen with various players today, laughing about things that had nothing to do with football. As much as he tried to keep himself from it, the draw to look at Paulo a few times was too strong. Only once did he find him looking back, and a firm shake of his head ensured that Paulo didn’t take his eyes off of the task at hand again for the rest of the drill. Otherwise, Hugo just enjoyed looking, under the premise of mentor and captain.

Just as the mid-afternoon heat was beginning to creep in, the whistles blew to send them inside. Hugo walked in with Jan and Mousa, all debating good-naturedly in French over a steadily rotating series of current events, and he lost track of Paulo entirely in the process. He didn’t make any kind of show of searching for him, but his glance still flicked around the locker room and showers as they all washed the day’s session away and got ready to leave. There was no sign of Paulo, although whether they just failed to cross paths or whether something else was going on, Hugo didn’t know. 

Technically, they didn’t have to stay for another meal - the end of drills was the end of their day - but almost everyone did anyway, since it was something free, quick, and healthy. Hugo stayed, and his table quickly filled, but he offered very little to the conversation happening around him, too preoccupied with his glances toward the door and his mounting frustration at Paulo for not walking through them. 

"You’re quiet today,” Michel said about halfway through lunch, nudging him with his elbow. 

Hugo realised with a small twinge of embarrassment that he had ignored the entire table for the better part of fifteen minutes, but he covered it with a roll of his eyes. “I’m quiet many days,” he said dryly, knowing that there was no argument to be had. 

Michel’s expressive face stayed sceptical, but Toby asked him a question and he was quickly off on a tangent, his attention off of Hugo. Hugo didn’t know whether Toby had sensed his need for an intervention just then, but he was grateful regardless. 

Paulo never came to the canteen. Hugo kept his composure outwardly, but he was swearing a blue streak inside. Paulo had been about as close to explicitly clear about his intentions and interest as one can be, in this situation - unless Hugo had misread the situation? There _was_ always the chance that Paulo didn’t have any desire to submit to him at all. There was a chance that there was no ulterior motive, that Paulo was antagonising him for some other reason entirely.

Doubt joined the tempest in his head and his irritation grew, now also directed inward. Hugo excused himself easily once he was finished eating; he had picked out a fairly light lunch and made it clear enough to anyone paying attention that he wasn’t in much of a ‘people’ mood. He decided he would look in two places. If Paulo was in neither of them, Hugo was going home and discarding the whole notion. He half hoped that that would be the case - then at least maybe he would be able to concentrate around Paulo going forward.

As soon as he turned the corner and could see the majority of the changing room, the idea of dismissing this flew out of his head. He found Paulo seated on the little bench underneath where Hugo’s shirt usually hung, hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his face downturned as he texted. His hair was still damp and unkempt, but the rest of him... even in a simple white t-shirt and tight, ratty jeans, he looked put together, effortlessly groomed, like a fucking model. 

Hugo _yearned_ to tear him apart.


	2. You Want Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later, he would wonder whether his knees actually did give out, or whether it was a conscious decision, but in the moment, he only knew the pain from his scalp and the pain from his knees, and somewhere in between, a deep, dark hunger for more. 

“You weren’t at lunch.” 

Paulo jumped and just about fumbled his phone, barely closing his fingers around it before it fell out of his hand. When he looked up, though, he nearly dropped it regardless. Hugo was a good couple of metres away, but his irritation still radiated throughout the room. He had his arms crossed, his eyes dark and narrow under that hard furrow between his brows that usually only appeared the moment that he set foot on the pitch. If Paulo stood, he would have several inches on Hugo, but seated, Hugo towered over him even from a moderate distance.

_ God _ , he was sexy when he was pissed off. 

Really, it wasn’t even just when he was angry - no matter whether he was joyful or grumpy or intensely focused, Paulo had developed an undeniable attraction to Hugo within a ridiculously short amount of time with the team. 

He couldn’t help it. Hugo was gorgeous, plus he was one of the best goalkeepers in the entire world. He was a brilliant strategist and a more than competent teacher, and he was endlessly patient with the younger boys and the new signings - one of whom was Paulo, and that attention  _ really _ didn’t help his situation in any way, shape, or form.

In fact, Paulo’s first real moment of despair had come just under a week into his time with Spurs, when Hugo sat down at breakfast across from him, Juan, and Dav. He only asked them how they were settling in, whether they had any questions that they were afraid to ask somebody else, whether everyone was treating them kindly, whether they’d encountered any problems. 

Paulo definitely had a problem. One that almost made him late for drills because he couldn’t exactly get up from the table with everyone else. 

But the first time that he saw Hugo angry... the first time he witnessed the rare sight of him missing an easy save and getting riled up, stalking back and forth between the sticks, barking at the back line in some inhumanely hot mixture of French and English... 

Paulo couldn’t have even started to describe the hunger that came over him, simmering under the surface and desperate for Hugo to make it boil over again. He wanted to be the reason the spark flared to life, he wanted all of that passion directed at him and him alone.

Now, he could feel Hugo’s eyes trying to burn a hole through him, and he yearned for that heat to envelop him and devour him from the inside out. 

“You said you were going to see me after training,” he retorted, looking back down at his phone. “Sorry I try to make it easy for you to find me.”

He heard Hugo’s bag hit the floor and only barely saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could even process it and look up, the top of his head flared with pain and he let out a soft cry as he was literally dragged off of the bench by his hair. He barely had time to get his legs under him and support his own weight through the movement, but when he tried to use them to stand, Hugo tightened his grip, keeping him from reaching his full height. 

_ “Qu’est-ce que tu veux de moi?” _ demanded Hugo. His face was inches from Paulo’s, and as much as Paulo wanted to fight back - and he really, really did - there was something in Hugo’s eyes that pierced him all the way through that instinct. When it did, his legs gave out and he landed hard on his knees with a wince and a whimper. 

Later, he would wonder whether they actually  _ did _ give out or whether it was a conscious decision, but in the moment, he only knew the pain from his scalp and the pain from his knees, and somewhere in between, a deep, dark hunger for more. 

He had no idea what it had been that Hugo said, but when he opened his mouth to reply, what came out was a rough whisper.  _ “Lo quiero.” _

_ I want it _ . 

_ Whatever it is.  _

Whether or not Hugo actually knew enough Spanish to comprehend the words, Paulo didn’t know, but it was clear that Hugo understood  _ something. _ He released Paulo’s hair, making him whine at the abandonment, but no sooner had the sound escaped his lips than Hugo’s strong hand wrapped around his arm, and the captain hauled him back to his feet. 

“Come on,” Hugo muttered. He used his grip to drag Paulo off balance and pulled him roughly toward the bathroom, giving him a full-strength shove through the door. Paulo stumbled forward, catching himself with an awkwardly large step before whirling around. 

Whatever line they had been toeing separately for the past few weeks was officially crossed and erased by both of them, together. Paulo could clearly see the bulge in Hugo’s jeans just as well as he knew that Hugo could see the one in his.

“You want me?” demanded Hugo in a raspy, breathless growl. 

Paulo’s knees nearly buckled, his head spinning around the fact that his weeks of lusting had come to this. One thought drummed a constant rhythm in his head in sync with the pounding of his heart -  _ This is real, this is real, this is real.  _ “Yes. You want me?”

Hugo’s dark eyes roved hungrily up and down. “Yes. Are you cheating on someone?”

Paulo bristled, insulted - not that Hugo had any reason to know his principles, but still - and he bit out, “No. Are you?”

“No.”

Paulo bit his lip, eyes flickering. Hugo’s stance alone was such a fucking turn-on, leaning toward Paulo, chin down, eyes hungry - like he was ready to pounce just as soon as Paulo gave the word. 

_ “Sais-tu ce que je veux te faire?” _ Hugo’s voice was low and dark, dangerous, barely a whisper, intense as a scream. 

Stomach buzzing like a kicked beehive, Paulo felt the thrill of adrenaline rush through his veins - the air was thick with nearly combustible tension, a dam that was straining, yearning to burst, holding back the full force of their desire until they were absolutely certain. 

Paulo was officially certain. 

He threw his arms up in petulant exasperation, then crossed them with a glare - and the tiniest of smirks.  _ “No se francés _ ,” he snapped, and then tacked on in a sarcastic drawl,  _ “mi capitán.” _

Hugo crossed the room in three long strides, backing Paulo up against the wall with a wordless noise of aggravation. Paulo took exactly one second to gasp and steady himself, looked down into Hugo’s cold, glittering eyes, and then they surged toward each other simultaneously, mouths crashing together, tongues delving forward, growls ripped from both of their throats. Paulo grabbed Hugo’s shirt in one hand and Hugo smacked his arm away, now the one grabbing Paulo’s shirt in both of his fists. He pulled away, pulled him back for another brief, bruising kiss, then shoved him back up against the wall. 

“Then I will be clear,” he hissed. “Do you know what  _ sadisme _ is?”

Paulo felt a deep thrill at hearing Hugo use that word. He knew exactly what it was - it was almost identical in both English and Spanish. 

“Yes,” he said steadily, “and I know I am  _ masoquista _ for several years now.” He could see the exact moment that Hugo’s big beautiful eyes widened, losing their ferocity for just the briefest second. The exact moment that he understood, that he realised that there was nothing stopping them. Paulo leaned down, put his face in Hugo’s, narrowed his eyes in a challenge. “So what are you waiting for?”

The answer came immediately in a blossom of pain across the right side of his face as Hugo slapped him. Paulo let out a mewl of something between pain and excitement, not even meaning to make a noise but having no chance of keeping his reaction inside anymore when it came to Hugo, not in this moment. He knew that Hugo had locked the door, but even though there was almost certainly no one from the squad that would have stayed this late, and that there were very few employees there at all on days like this, it wasn't impossible for someone to discover them if they got too loud. 

Hugo put a hand against the wall on either side of Paulo’s shoulders, pinning him in. “Do you have a safeword?” 

Paulo opened his mouth, then frowned. He did have one, but it was in Spanish. He wasn’t sure whether Hugo would be able to distinguish it from anything else that came out of his mouth. He cast around quickly for another one, struggling to think of anything other than this bubble, Hugo’s heat, his intensity, the smell of his deodorant, the fire burning in his honey-brown eyes. 

Only one other mental image existed, and for some reason, it was of something that he and three other teammates had filmed for SpursTV at the end of last week. It wasn’t coming out until Christmas, but they’d filmed it mid-October so there would be time for editing, and through the steady roar in his head, a single word jumped out at him. 

“Wahlberg.”

“Really?” Hugo snorted, looking amused to the point of mockery, and Paulo scowled, blushing. 

“Well, you asked,” he retorted. 

Eyes hardening again in an instant, Hugo slapped him again, drawing a gasp out of him. “Close your mouth,” he snapped. 

Paulo did so, but not without having a wild fantasy of spitting back,  _ ‘Make me.’ _

Somehow or another, Hugo seemed to hear it regardless. He yanked Paulo away from the wall and turned, shoving him up against the sinks instead with a grunt. Paulo gasped at the impact and one hand shot out before he even really thought about it, catching himself on the full-wall mirror. The edge of the gleaming white counter was directly at dick height, and he let out a grunt at the contact, hissing,  _ “Mierda,” _ through clenched teeth. 

As suddenly as he had pushed him, Hugo snatched him back by a handful of his shirt, pulling Paulo flush against his front, his dick hard in his jeans and digging against Paulo’s ass. Once Paulo’s arm had fallen away, Hugo pinned him back against the edge of the counter until he winced, pressing back against Hugo out of a mixture of desperate desire and self-preservation, trying to keep his own dick from being smashed against the hard edge, clenching his jaw against a strained, stuttering groan. 

“Paulo.”

A full-body shudder ran through Paulo at the sound of Hugo’s beautiful voice now harsh and strained, but still making those two syllables sound sexier than anyone ever had before - making his very name sound like a threat. He froze, watching in the mirror as Hugo smirked, his eyelids heavy, eyes dark and deep, teeth sunk into his lower lip. Hard gaze reflecting directly into Paulo’s, Hugo finally let go of him, but only to drag his t-shirt off, exposing his lean, powerful torso, pale and chiseled below a chest covered with a thick and gorgeous dusting of dark hair across the breadth of it. 

Once he had Paulo’s attention, Hugo reached around him to shove the ball of black fabric into his face, effectively blocking his view, and he held the whole thing against Paulo’s mouth until Paulo opened and bit down on it. When Hugo let go, Paulo took it upon himself to adjust the makeshift gag, getting a thicker mouthful and digging his teeth into it. 

Hugo’s smirk sharpened when Paulo looked back into his eyes - it was downright ominous, and a delicious fear shivered through him, making his skin tingle and his dick throb in time with his heartbeat. Not breaking eye contact, Hugo leaned close and growled, “You’re going to need that.”

Before Paulo could offer any response at all, Hugo’s hand was in the middle of his back and Paulo was forcefully shoved forward, bent over the counter, only barely able to react fast enough to stiffen his neck and save his head from an impact. Hugo immediately popped him on the ass and Paulo moaned into the shirt, unable to help it. If Hugo wanted him to be quiet, he was making it very, very difficult. 

Hugo bent over him, hand still holding him down against the counter, and put his mouth right beside Paulo’s ear. “Now - you want me to fuck you?” 

Paulo honestly wasn’t sure whether it was a test on whether he’d make a noise or not, but he didn’t get a chance to choose before Hugo’s fingers were twisted harshly into his hair, yanking him upright by nothing but that grip.

He barely bit down on the filthy, throaty moan that threatened to rip out of him.  _ God, yes. _

Hugo wrapped an arm around the top of Paulo’s chest, his muscular forearm digging into Paulo’s clavicle. “Answer me!” he hissed. 

His mouth gone dry from holding the fabric in it, Paulo was glad for the excuse to spit it out. What half of him wanted was to demand how he was supposed to answer that when Hugo had just gagged him, but once his mouth was free, what came out was a ragged gasp and a strained, “Yes, Hugo, please, yes.”

Hugo let go of his hair to give him another sharp smack, this time on the side of his thigh. “Did I say you could take it out? Do you  _ want _ that someone hears you?”

Heat spread through him, and, chastised, Paulo quickly shook his head. He retrieved the shirt from the countertop with one shaky hand, finding a part that wasn’t damp already and stuffing the fabric back into his mouth, gaze locked with Hugo’s in their reflection. 

_ “Now. _ Say it.” Hugo reached around him to work his belt buckle, making Paulo whine softly into the gag. He was only using one hand, with the other arm still wrapped around Paulo’s chest, grip bruisingly tight on his shoulder, making him arch his back just enough for them to be, more or less, of a height. Heat pooled and pulsed just below where Hugo was working first to expertly clear his belt, and then roughly yank his fly - there were five audible pops as the line of buttons came undone, and Paulo let himself moan that time, since Hugo clearly didn’t want him silent right now. 

It came out muffled, barely intelligible, but at the same time clear as day - “I want you to fuck me.”

Hugo finally let go of his hair in order to snag the back of Paulo’s jeans, fingers hooking over the waistband and his briefs. He gave them a violent yank; once they cleared Paulo’s oversensitive ass, they fell loosely to his knees, exposing him entirely. “What do you want?”

Paulo’s dick was so hard that it hurt more than just about anything else that was being done to him at that point. He could see it in the mirror now, flushed and rigid, and he could see Hugo’s hungry gaze drop to devour it as well. When Hugo looked back up, it was with a look so intense that Paulo had to drop his own gaze. “I want you to fuck me,” he repeated. 

Hugo pushed him against the counter and Paulo braced himself against the edge with his hands, canting his hips, begging without words. 

With a sharp shock of pain, Hugo sank his teeth into Paulo’s shoulder through his t-shirt. He may have broken the skin, may not have - Paulo didn’t care, because the sting faded under a wave of desire when one of Hugo’s hands slid between their bodies, slid between Paulo’s cheeks, spread them with his fingers. 

“Knock on the counter,” Hugo commanded. Paulo did so, one dull crack from his knuckles easily audible in the room. “ _ Bien _ . With a gag, you answer like this. One is yes, you’re good. Two is ‘too much’. Three, I stop everything.  _ Tu comprends?” _

Paulo started to nod, but rapped his knuckles on the countertop again. 

Hugo hummed in dark satisfaction. “You want me inside you?”

_ Knock. _

He put his lips right on Paulo’s ear. “You want me to hurt you?”

_ Knock _ . 

“Are you ready?”

Paulo wanted to knock a thousand times  _ yes, yes, yes, yes _ in his eagerness, but he restrained himself - mostly. He knocked once, but couldn’t stop himself from pressing back against Hugo, desperately presenting his ass, physically imploring Hugo to  _ do something _ . 

Hugo chuckled, low in his throat, and smacked one cheek hard, no warning, no preparing Paulo’s now-bare skin, just a blossom of red hot pain that made Paulo cry out into the gag, tears coming to his eyes.  _ “Écarte tes jambes,” _ Hugo instructed. 

Paulo didn’t know what that meant, but he found out almost immediately when Hugo wedged a knee between his legs and knocked them apart. Hugo shoved him back down over the countertop, torso flat against it, the surface cool under his flushed cheek. Bent like this, his entrance on full display, he felt absolutely filthy, completely exposed - and he loved it. 

The next thing that he heard was the sound of Hugo as he spat into his hand, and the thrill of fear burned through him again, yearning for the pain, yearning for it to boil over into pleasure, skin prickling with excitement.

Hugo’s fingers entering him made him grateful for Hugo having gagged him. He clamped down on the fabric, but without being able to close his mouth, he couldn’t have possibly kept himself quiet. 

It practically felt like Hugo had just started fucking him immediately - Paulo was somewhat out of practise, and Hugo had used two fingers right out of the gate. Paulo could feel them moving, not only in and out, but inside him, crossing and uncrossing, stroking down hard over his prostate, stretching him out. He added a third more quickly than Paulo thought possible, and he pushed back hungrily against them even as tears stung his eyes. 

Far too soon, Hugo stopped, leaving Paulo empty and trying not to whine as Hugo stepped up beside him to wash his fingers, not even looking down while Paulo panted and squeezed his eyes closed to clear the tears away. Once he had thrown away the paper towel, Hugo rapped on the counter in front of Paulo’s face, making him jump. 

_ “Bien?” _

Paulo knocked once. 

“Good.” One hand landed in Paulo’s hair, carding through the strands softly - and then tightened, yanking his head up to look into his eyes. Even mostly sideways, Paulo could tell that there was a blazing fire within them.  _ “Je vais te déchirer.” _

He didn’t understand the words, but no one on earth could have mistaken their intent. 

Paulo knocked once even though it hadn’t been a question, nodding eagerly. Hugo still had his hair, and the motion tugged painfully at his scalp. If he dared, he would spit the shirt out again just to tell Hugo all of the reasons that he needed this, needed him to  _ hurry the fuck up _ . He was painfully hard now, trying to keep the edge of the counter from digging into his flesh.

"Don't move," Hugo whispered, his eyes glittering as he stared down at Paulo. "Or you will wish you hadn't."

Paulo whimpered faintly into the gag as Hugo released his hair and stepped back. He was desperate to feel Hugo against him again, desperate for his hands to touch him, not caring whether they would bring pleasure or pain.

He couldn’t see him, but Paulo knew that Hugo was simply waiting, watching Paulo struggle. Paulo was bent over the counter, but not resting his weight on it, legs spread, ass raised, ready for Hugo.  _ Please, please, come on already, _ he begged silently. The waiting was almost worse than any pain Hugo might inflict on him.

He didn't even see Hugo move before his hand connected against Paulo's ass, igniting his skin all over again. "You thought about it, didn't you?" Hugo asked, his voice soft and dangerous. "You thought about defying me, just to make me punish you, didn't you?"

_ "Sí," _ Paulo whispered, but no sound escaped around Hugo's shirt between his teeth. He wanted anything and everything Hugo could give him, desperately wanted Hugo to push him to depths he'd never reached before. But he also badly wanted Hugo's approval, his attention, and so he knew that-- for today at least-- he would do anything Hugo wanted.

In that moment Paulo loved him absolutely, recklessly - and he knew that no matter what happened next, part of him would always belong to Hugo.

"I know you did," Hugo growled, and his hands moved again, as quick as thought. Paulo moaned again as one of them wound into his hair, pulling tight, while the other spanked him again, sharply. Then Hugo yanked him upright, making pain flare in his scalp, and Hugo's mouth was on his neck, biting, sucking; he was going to have so many bruises there tomorrow but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Hugo twisted Paulo’s head to the side then and attacked his mouth in a bruising kiss, biting his lip, and there was no gentleness in it at all. Paulo half expected to taste blood in his mouth, but then Hugo released him, shoving him back down on the counter top and stepping away.

Paulo let out a loud whine, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn't bear the teasing, he needed Hugo in him  _ now-- _

Something landed on the counter next to Paulo's face. He caught the faint smell of leather and cracked one eye open, just enough to see that it was a wallet. He heard the sound of something ripping open, Hugo letting out a ragged little noise, and then the pressure against his hole was the only warning that he had before searing pain pushed every last thought out of his head and he cried out in ecstasy into the gag, a ragged scream viciously ripped out of him. 

“Hugo!” He knew that his captain didn’t hear him, couldn’t understand him, wouldn’t care - not unless he knocked, and there was no way he was doing that, not when it would delay him cresting the wave of pain to drown in pleasure; not when he loved it so much.

Hugo buried himself deep in the first thrust, his hips flush against Paulo’s ass, driving him forward until he was shoved into the edge of the countertop again. With another whimper of pain, Paulo tried to reach down, rearrange himself so that the erection that was already swollen and throbbing wasn’t also being slammed into the unyielding edge. 

Hugo smacked him on the upper arm, the sting only barely dulled by the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Don’t touch!” he snapped.  _ “Tu te fou de ma gueule?” _ Hugo’s hips connected with Paulo’s ass again and as he began to bury himself deep inside of Paulo over and over, Paulo realised that he had relied on nothing but the lube that existed on the condom already. It was excruciating, delicious, terrifying - he moaned into the t-shirt in his mouth as Hugo slammed back into him. _ “Je sais que tu sais ce que tu fais! Tous le jours! Et aujourd’hui, tu me fais paraître stupide, incompétent. C'est drôle pour toi?” _

Paulo had no idea what Hugo was saying, but it was furious, it was hot, and it was all focused on him; all of Hugo’s fire and fury and passion igniting between them, and Paulo was the one who had lit the fuse. He’d never felt this powerful before in his life. 

_ “Pendant si longtemps, je voulais te faire du mal,” _ Hugo snarled. His ranting was getting more intense, every hard thrust putting an extra bite on every few words, giving his rage a rhythm that matched the pounding in Paulo’s ears and between his legs. 

A new brand of pain, honestly somewhat muted underneath the sharper agony of the rough fucking, joined the assault on Paulo’s body - a deeper, glorious pain, a bruising thud, a closed-fist punch into the meat of his ass cheek that reverberated through the muscle. He clenched around Hugo, who groaned deep in his throat and did it again. Paulo whimpered and clenched again, drawing another needy rumble out of the captain, and earning himself the reward of another punch. This one was a bit off the mark, but Paulo didn’t even care, barely registered the extra jolt of pain as he clamped down on the t-shirt in his mouth, jaw locked, eyes squeezed shut, tears flowing freely. 

Everything was a blur. He begged Hugo to go harder, he begged him to stop, he wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore himself, or what language he was saying it in, because the darkness finally broke, a hot rush enveloping him as the endorphins flooded his body, wave after wave, the pain mingling beautifully with bright and indescribable pleasure before being consumed entirely, leaving nothing but bliss in its wake. 

He was completely out of his head and halfway out of his mind, watching from above as he was used through and through by his magnificent captain. Somewhere underneath the devastation, the beautiful trust and release, he knew that he was going to be feeling this for days - and that was a turn-on all by itself. 

How long had they even been going at this? For all Paulo knew, it could have been three minutes or thirty minutes or three hours - he was high, drunk, thoroughly violated but absolutely safe. It was intoxicating. It was addictive. He never, ever wanted it to end. 

Then Hugo’s grip tightened, his nails digging in. Paulo’s skin sang out, almost certainly pierced in a few places as Hugo stopped abruptly, shuddering against him, his venomous words tumbling into a groan so deep and ragged that it sounded like it was being clawed out of him by some force that was stronger than both of them. 

Paulo barely had time to process that Hugo had come before one strong arm reached around him and Hugo’s hand finally,  _ finally _ wrapped around his tortured dick. The contact was just about all it took - no more than three strokes and Paulo cried out one last time, his knees buckling, choking on a lustful sob as he came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference for Paulo's safeword is from [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUAHWcTZVcI) of Jan, Harry, Sonny, and Paulo playing "Who Am I?"

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in FEBRUARY, y'all. 😅 Idk why it gave me such a hard time. 
> 
> Title/chapter titles from [Talk Show Host by Radiohead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1HM7t1z9D8).
> 
> Everything should cooperate with google translate, but if there's a problem, let me know! 
> 
> (Psst, catmanu, we 💜💜💜 you)


End file.
